


Porphyrogene

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Others were born to die, but Kiyoko was born to love.
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Kudos: 20





	Porphyrogene

**Author's Note:**

> Kiyoyachi Executioner/Florist AU.
> 
> This fic was written 2 years ago for Haikyuu!! WLW Zine.
> 
> I'll admit one thing: at the time of writing this, the concept, the style, basically everything, was brilliant to me. Now, not so much. I'll admit this is nowhere near my proudest work, but I thought it'd be nice to give it a platform for everyone else to read lol. Even if I've been away from the HQ fandom for a long time, somehow this fic still has a gentle spot on my heart, because it reminds me of the time I was an active HQ participator :).
> 
> That aside, though, please do not leave mean comments!

She was called Porphyrogene. There was a glint of fierceness in her eyes – a vehement, intense color of black, like a vortex of aggression and mild brutality. Her lips were full and as red as apples in summer—vile sunset adhering to her mouth, twitching into a nightmare of a smile. A red signet ring circled around her right middle finger, her family insignia carved on its brilliant ruby.

The platform was her dance floor, where she held a cruel double-edged sword and swayed her hips and swung her hands in an elegant movement; then in one stroke, she sparked bloodshed, just like what she was meant to do, exactly what she was born to ignite.

Kiyoko woke up with a start. She was still in the realm in between states of consciousness. Her head hurt terribly, much to the point where her vision began to spiral. Slowly and carefully, she sat herself up on the bed. Looking down at her hands, she noticed a bruise on the back of her palm and how rough and blue it looked.

She opened the blinds to be greeted by the still-dark sky. It was navy, though she knew it would gradually be lighter and lighter if she waited long enough. The air was still, the atmosphere quiet and Kiyoko felt vulnerable.

Being an infamous kingdom executioner, she was widely assumed to have a strong personality and generally tough in both body and mind, but in times like this, she was nothing but defenseless. When the clock hands hadn’t yet shown even six o’clock and everybody else was still in the comfort of their sleep, Kiyoko was alone, awake in a wicked daydream.

Across the room, her sword was in its sheath, leaning against the wall helplessly. She sighed. She knew that in the evening, some fool was going to commit a crime and she would be given a list of people to slay. Thinking about the weight of the sword in her hands immediately made her body feel heavy.

Others were born to die, but Kiyoko was born to kill.

Pitying her own fate, she lied back down and closed her eyes, back to the slumber she hoped would last longer.

…

Kiyoko always wondered why someone would own a shop near the execution platform. It was a small cottage, with pots of flowers which names she didn’t know hanging on the front porch. It always smelled fresh in there, contrary to the metallic scent of blood that floated in the air, no matter how much the platform had been cleaned. It was the same smell that stained her hands. The same aroma that clung to her fingers.

The shop sold flowers. All kinds of them—from seasonal flowers to those that thrived all year round. As much as Kiyoko knew, it was the only flower shop in town. And for whatever reason, the seller preferred to place it in a very unideal location. Sales could decline if it continued, Kiyoko thought. The scary platform was juxtaposed by the merry presence of a flower shop, almost in a curious, puzzling way.

Her concern and questions didn’t stop her from purchasing flowers there, though. She kept a few in a vase at home, but most of it was to be spread in the execution platform, as a tribute to her victims. People called her ‘soft-hearted’ for doing so, but Kiyoko believed that nothing could be a redeeming quality, considering she had such a heinous job.

The owner of the shop was a girl a few years junior to her. She was sweet, the kind of person that brought a jolly aura to everywhere she went. Her flower arrangements were extraordinary, but nothing could compare to the hue of her eyes and the way they shine every time she saw Kiyoko. She grew flowers in Kiyoko’s pale heart, and watered them with exceptional warmth.

Her name was Hitoka, and Kiyoko loved her.

“I don’t think the name ‘Porphyrogene’ suits you,” Hitoka said that morning. She was cutting leaves and arranging vibrant orange flowers with some white lilies. Kiyoko sat on a stool, watching her carefully as she did her work. The words seeped into her mind. Doesn’t suit her? That was the first time someone ever said so.

“Why?” Kiyoko asked. “I was born with that name.”

“I thought your name was Kiyoko.”

“It is. It’s my given name. But my life was different when people still called me with that name. Once I became what I am right now, I was birthed again into a new life, with a new name,” she explained, staring off to distance from the glass windows. “They call me so now because my cape looks like wings of porphyrogenes.”

“It still doesn’t suit you. The name doesn’t sound like what someone like you would bear. It sounds…foul. Corrupt. You don’t deserve that, you know. I have the perfect name for you.”

“And that is?”

“Just Kiyoko,” Hitoka smiled at her. “Just Kiyoko. It fits you best.”

Kiyoko smiled back. The feeling was fresh, raw, and it awakened something within her, something unfathomable that made her happy emotions drown in a whirlpool of love. It was rare to feel that way. She began to realize how Hitoka always made her notice the pretty little things she often ignored in the blur of worry. Even the worthless leaves Hitoka was cutting suddenly infused her with a burst of melancholy.

“Do you want to accompany me to the meadow?” Hitoka asked.

“The meadow?” Kiyoko repeated in a questioning manner. 

“Yes, the meadow. I’m in the mood for it. So far, the flowers I’ve seen are those I grow in my garden. I’d like to experience for myself, the enjoyment of being in a vast field of flowers,” she explained.

“All right. Of course I’ll accompany you. My job won’t start until night.”

Kiyoko gritted her teeth thinking about her job. Being an executioner meant that sleeping at night was a bother, fearing that the ghosts of the lives you’ve taken would haunt you with regret and guilt. But it was inevitable. As a Shimizu, the only thing inherited from head to head each generation, aside from the small chunk of fortune, was this.

Kiyoko promised that, her bloodline would end with her.

Still, though, she couldn’t showcase her frown in front of Hitoka. It was impossible to even let a smile fade away around her. She deserved sunshine, and everything else lovely, so Kiyoko couldn’t let herself lose to her own raging thoughts.

Hitoka was cleaning the table, throwing away the leaves and stalks into the can, then with a single grin, she took Kiyoko’s hand.

…

It was a meadow of aster. “Asters represent remembrance,” Hitoka said. “Their skinny, delicate little petals portray memory, the vibrant yellow center means reminiscence and their long, fresh green stalks symbolize memento.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Except I made up the last ones. Their individual parts don’t actually mean anything in particular.”

Kiyoko laughed. She held a purple aster in between her forefinger and thumb, then rolled it idly. Time seemed to dissolve right then. Nothing else mattered, just the moment they were in. Kiyoko inhaled the air, uninhibited and slow. Hitoka next to her was looking to somewhere beyond the horizon, where the sun hung up high and the scenery was plain and green.

“I think that,” Hitoka spoke in a small voice, in a tone that Kiyoko thought created a crack in her soul. “If I were to disappear right now, these asters will still be beautiful.”

“Not for me,” Kiyoko replied quickly. “Nothing is beautiful if you don’t exist. Your existence in this world is a blessing, and it is pure luck that I get to meet you.”

“Mm,” Hitoka spun her neck to look at her, solid in the eye. It made Kiyoko shiver, aside from the effect of the zephyr that smothered her skin. “How do you think so?”

“I’m an executioner. I kill people for a living. I’m a sinister woman, with blood in her hands and fangs in her mouth—at least that’s what people love to think,” Kiyoko paused. “But the chastity of your heart makes me feel as if my sins have been washed away. Your spider lilies bring me hope and your morning glories are what keeping me going.”

Kiyoko put a hand on Hitoka’s. Her skin was gentle, ethereal under hers. She knew that she shouldn’t be holding her like this; not with her sinful hand. An executioner and a florist. It sounded so unbalanced. Kiyoko was tainted with atrocity, and Hitoka was unblemished from the worldly evil. But Kiyoko knew that, when Hitoka needed comfort, then even the comfort of an executioner counted.

“I’m mad,” Hitoka announced. “As mad as the Catherine wheels launched when somebody dies under your hands, as mad as the asters in the cracks of rocks, as mad as porphyrogenes and the color of your cape.”

“You talk so weirdly,” Kiyoko chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

Hitoka blushed. She probably didn’t think when she said. “I like words.”

“I want to drink the words out of your lips.”

“Tell me if they’re saccharine,” Hitoka leaned in to press her lips on Kiyoko’s.

It was just a peck, but Kiyoko could feel the essence of romance bleeding against her lips, like ink on paper. Her vision, dark under her eyelids, were peppered with fluorescent dots. When Hitoka pulled back, they smiled at each other. Hitoka’s eyes smiled too; they were gleaming in absolute sincerity, and though Kiyoko didn’t know, hers were shining the same light.

Others were born to die, but Kiyoko was born to love.


End file.
